This Never Happened
by Mindy35
Summary: A series of missing scenes that gradually diverge from canon to create a very different ending to episode 3.
1. Chapter 1

Rating: M, sexy stuff ahead  
Disclaimer: Jed Mercurio, ITV and BBC etc own.  
Spoilers: Eps 1-3  
Pairing: David/Julia  
Summary: A series of missing scenes that gradually diverge from canon to create a very different ending to episode 3.

* * *

He sits on the bench, staring at his empty hands.

Occasionally he gets up to pace.

He'd like to take out his frustration on the shiny white walls but surveillance cameras are watching his every move. And he has a feeling that anything he did to the buffed concrete would slide right off without leaving a trace. Just like all the other inhabitants of this cell who have come and gone without leaving a trace. Just like he will. Eventually.

When they're done with him and his non-answers, he'll probably be handed over to the Security Service. For now, they shuttle him back and forth between the holding cell and an interview room. The coppers that interviewed him about Thornton Circus resume the same routine. Circumspect cop vs. compassionate cop. Circumspect cop takes the lead, his circumspection bordering now on outright suspicion. Compassionate cop leans back in her chair and watches him with dark eyes. When he asks to speak with Julia, she leans forward across the table.

"You call her Julia?"

David's gaze shifts from her superior to her. His mouth opens but doesn't respond.

"The Home Secretary, your principal," she prompts, placing an emphasis on the prescribed term, "you call her by her first name?"

He blinks and swallows. "I'd like to speak with her."

He tells them that Julia can clear this whole mess up, that she will speak in his defence. They skate over this claim and ask about the bomb instead.

After each circuitous interview they leave him alone in the interview room for long stretches. It's probably just a tactic but it's at this point that he expects the door to open and Julia to appear. She will be cool and cagey but she will let him explain and she will understand. She will speak to the people in charge and have him released, maybe even reinstated.

In the meantime, David paces the floor, leans against the walls with his hands and his forehead. When the door re-opens, it's always one of the detectives thanking him for his time and a uniformed officer with a heft of keys. Back in his cell, he wonders if she will visit him there instead. It may be the more discreet option. He wonders if he should use his phone call to contact her. He wonders if she will pick up. He thinks of her face when they parted, the hurt and confusion in her eyes when they met his across the expanse of the room at The Blackwood, so many people standing between them. He'd only known the room with the two of them in it. Adding others made it stifling. Adding others had shattered their short-lived sanctuary.

He drops down on the bench again. It's the shape and size of a single bed but he's never encountered a more unyielding surface. It's just a holding cell, the first stop for enemies of the state. They're under no obligation to make him feel comfortable. Quite the opposite. David leans back with a sigh then forward again, to stare at his empty hands.

-x-

He sits on the edge of his bed, gun in both hands. And for once they don't shake.

He's sure he can do it. Familiar wrath bubbles up from within. Firing rather than defeating him. Clarifying his intent, not confusing it. Not now. Not after the day he's had.

Julia Montague was on the telly when Vicky told him about her new love. There she was, in her crisp suit, surrounded by bellowing lords, speaking in that bombastic way all politicians did. It only made her easier to blame. She was one of her kind and deserved everything she got. Her and her politics had invaded his home, destroyed its security and unapologetically robbed him of his wife and children.

They would live on with another man – a whole man, a sane man – acting as their guardian. Husband of Vicky. Father to Ella and Charlie. He'd appear in photographs with them, an arm around his wife and his daughter and son gathered close to his body. He'd pack their lunches and police their screen time and drop them at school and hear their birthday wishes and attend family Christmases each year. He'd kiss Vicky, embrace her, make love to her. He'd hug Ella and Charlie and they'd look at him with adoration in their eyes.

David rises from the bed and stalks through his barren flat, gun in hand. His hands don't shake, his feet don't hesitate. He's sure he can do it. And what's he got to lose now anyway? Talking to Andy, feeding off his rage – it just strengthened his resolve. Maybe that's why he sought him out. Maybe he was seeking that last little push – into insanity, into violence, into irredeemable action. With the gun clasped, cold and weighty, in his hand, he can imagine it. Lifting the muzzle to her head – or better yet, her heart. Then BAM.

She deserved it, everything she got. He'd feel empty, cleared of all emotion. Perhaps he'd turn the gun on himself then. More likely, he wouldn't get the chance. He'd be tackled to the ground. Tried and found guilty. He'd go to prison for the rest of his life. There may be an opportunity for him to make a statement about why he did what he did. All the ruined lives and premature deaths he was avenging. The press would print his words. They'd call him a traitor, a madman. Julia Montague's murderer. And nothing would change. Soldiers would still die, countries would be invaded, cities bombed. And the governments of faraway foreign powers would still shirk all responsibility.

He drops to his knees in the middle of the floor, drained of feeling, of motivation and all sense of meaning. Nothing he did would make a blind bit of difference. Not to anyone, past, present or future. Distant and disembodied, he looks down at the object in his hand. That limb, hanging from a dropped shoulder, feels lax and heavy. One weak finger quivers on the trigger. He could lift it to his temple. That might make a difference. To him, at least. To his own sense of powerlessness, to his constant, pitiless pain. It would kill the rage outright. His brain would halt. Falling blessedly, finally silent. His blood would gradually pool and his body slowly cool. And everything could just go on without him. A relief. A release. A well-earned rest.

He cups the gun in both hands. They still don't shake. He knows this place – he's been here before. Or it feels like he has. He's revisiting a memory that hasn't happened yet. Or may never happen. Because it didn't work then either. He lifted the gun, pulled the trigger and failed to die. He killed no one. Earned no rest or relief. Just the worst headache in all of human history. She'd been with him then too, during his worst bout of self-destruction. Julia Montague. Or just Julia, she'd been to him then. Julia – with a white halo around her mussed head, sleepy eyes smiling at him in the early morning light. He'd killed her. And that killed him.

Unable to hold his bulk upright, he falls to the floor. One hand still clutches the gun, the other wraps round his body. He curls in on himself with only his weapon for company. It makes for a grim bedfellow. The floor is chilly and he starts to shake. The cold invades his bones. Hot tears seep from his eyes. His fingers press through his clothes against the scars on his back.

He never touches them anymore, he barely pays attention to them. But she did, stroking them gently, curiously. Vicky always followed his lead and ignored his monstrous side. Julia embraced it, kissed it with open lips. Using not just the tips of her fingers but the flat of her palm, she reminded him that that area was healed now, he was whole. He was surprised by how good it felt. He'd only known pain there. Or absence, void. Pleasure was new. Love was exciting.

The memory – or the dream – extends as he slips into unconsciousness. Perhaps it's his soul's way of protecting him from perpetrating a life-altering act, a sin he doesn't really want to commit. Because in his dream, she is human, she is beautiful and she is his. Not his nemesis or his enemy. But his lover and liberator and friend. He adores her, makes love to her, touches every inch of her. His cold body heats, breaking into a sweat over imagined images of her thighs and her mouth and her soft, womanly bottom. Of thrusting into her as she gasps in ecstasy. Of fucking Julia Montague with the sort of abandon that a desperate man reserves only for the woman he hates. Or loves.

He wakes up stiff – and stiff. His spine crackles as he sits. His knees, shoulders and head protest every tentative movement he makes. Grey light slips through the blinds. Beer bottles litter his tabletop. The gun lies abandoned on the floor. Safety off but bullets undischarged. At some point during the night, he must have let it go. Shuffling back to his bedroom in his socks, David secures the weapon, wrapping it up and hiding it, even from himself. Then he heads for the shower.

Body numb and head pounding, he strips down and turns the water onto the highest bearable temperature. He lifts his face into the spray, lets the water run in and out of his mouth then down his body. Feeling begins to return to his muscles and his hard-on twitches with the spike in sensation. His eyes close as his hand wraps round it, pulling once slowly before pumping in sync with his heated blood and nocturnal fantasies. He can't explain the object of his fantasy but he can't seem to shake her either. He's never been into older women. And he's always preferred blondes, not brunettes. Added to which, Julia Montague is so cold and superior and aloof, with her glassy voice and intolerant stare. Would it even be possible to warm her up, make her burn, take her apart and find out what kind of woman might exist underneath?

Obviously some part of him would like to try because the images from his dream stick. She's all he thinks about as his hand moves on his dick. Peeling off her suits and claiming her flesh. Caressing her ankles as he slips off her heels. Smoothing her hair away from her face then opening her mouth with one thumb. His mouth on her breasts and his teeth on her peaked pink nipples. Her lips on his chest and his stomach and his cock. How fucking delicious it would be to have her suck him off. Then to have her lay back on pristine sheets and let him do everything he wanted with her. To have her open her legs and close her eyes and pant his name and clutch him close as he fucked and fucked and fucked her.

He comes with a cry. Head lowered in the spray, his free hand bracing his body against the slick shower wall. His cum circles the drain before disappearing. With it goes his willingness to examine the night before. His murderous, precipitous rage. Followed by his unexplainable, inconvenient desire. The gun. The blood. The dream. Her. It all – as with so much else – gets shoved down, locked up, lid securely in place. He shaves his face without looking himself in the eye. He slaps on aftershave, runs fingers through his hair. Not like she did. Or will ever do. She's never touched him. She's barely even looked at him. He's never made love to Julia Montague and he never will. He's not that sort of person. And neither, he doubts, is she. Such a thing could never, ever happen.

With blank efficiency, he switches the morning detail with Kim. Feeling the aftereffects of sleeping on the cold floor, almost committing suicide then fantasising about his infuriating protectee instead, he decides sullenly that his colleague can watch her strut about in her perfectly pressed power suits. Kim can watch over her as she tortures her underlings with her sheer indifference, her forbearing tone and her effortlessly superior intellect. David studies her schedule, stands guard in the foyer. As he does, he glances at a magazine article open on a coffee table. Her words are accompanied by a picture in which she's dressed in a straight black skirt and silky white blouse. The skirt has a split in it and the blouse has one button too many undone, revealing more skin than he's ever seen her offer up in real life.

Static sounds in his ear, making his spine straighten. He moves into place as he receives the call from above. The elevator descends, doors sliding open on an anti-climactic reveal. She's as she always is – no warmer, no sexier, no more or less lethal. He can't see the appeal, he really can't. But his hands clasp in front of his crotch as he feels his cock fill with blood. Julia walks straight past him with barely a glance. Only her aide speaks to him, revealing that she has been singing his praises in private. David gives the most minimal response possible. Julia doesn't join the conversation. When he delivers an order, she follows it without protest, silently wrapping her seatbelt around her highly prized body.

As they exit the Home Office plaza, he glances in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes are directed out the window, her mouth frowning in thought. She looks like she'd rather be anywhere else but stuck in that sedan with her snivelling sidekick. And him.

"Lavender outbound," David mutters into his radio. And behind him, he can feel her close, can smell her scent, can almost hear Julia Montague breathe.

_TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: M, more sexy stuff  
Disclaimer: Jed Mercurio, ITV and BBC etc own 'em.  
Spoilers: Eps 1-3 mainly  
Pairing: David/Julia  
Summary: A series of missing scenes that gradually diverge from canon to create a very different ending to episode 3.

* * *

It started so innocuously. With a few too many reads of the October First report. Normally, when reports cross her desk, they're scanned once for salient information and actionable items. Only one in five files are read carefully, fewer yet studied in great detail.

Certainly, the incident that took place on October first was an important one, a potentially disastrous one. One that required a swift and informed response. So she read the file carefully the first time. After which, it ought to have been set aside, just like any other important intel related to national security that she dealt with on a daily basis.

Julia didn't set it aside. She still had questions. The incident possessed her. The words, the deeds. The name David Budd possessed her most of all. So the night after reading the report for the first time, she found herself returning to it.

She left it for last, until all the other files in her ministerial box had been perused. She ate dinner and listened to the news. She showered and changed into satin pyjamas. Then she set herself up in her bed, covers folded back and a red wine at her elbow. Except instead of a romantic novella, as some sexually frustrated single women might resort to, she re-opened the file on the train bombing prevented by David Budd.

There were particular parts of the report she wished to revisit. But homing in on them only seemed to blur the truth further, rather than bringing it into clear and unequivocal focus. The motivation and character of Police Sergeant David Budd certainly seemed no clearer. She re-read with interest the competing reports by his colleagues of his actions and manner. Some called him a hero, others a hindrance. One senior officer recommended him for a medal, another suggested a demotion based on insolence and vigilantism. Julia couldn't make up her mind. So she read the report a third time.

Of course, the officer at the centre of 1-10 was also responsible for her daily safety. She had every right to feel curious at least, suspicious at worst. So she listened closely to the opinions of her colleagues, extended discussions of the event beyond the point at which they'd proved productive. When the report was updated with fresh intelligence, she took it home and read it immediately and meticulously. Rob had arrived at the flat just as she was finishing with it. Tongue loosened by wine, she'd paced back and forth, spouting a series of rapid fire questions he couldn't possibly know the answers to. He'd gaped at her from the couch then offered to refill her glass. She'd turned away and changed the subject.

It's probably how he cottoned on to her partiality. He rubbed her nose in it the next time they were both in the company of David Budd. It was Rob's way of flirting. Of flaunting his confidence with her while sneering at the other man's heroic response. If her aide's juvenile little power play registered with her new PPO, he didn't show it. Professional as ever, he simply ordered them into their seatbelts. From the backseat of the car, she could smell his aftershave, sense the movement of his muscles every time he shifted in his seat or turned his head, searching for potential threats. She could see the black and grey and ginger hairs that had been neatly cropped at the base of his skull. She could see the weather-worn creases of his neck above his shirt collar.

It was rare for them to be positioned so close. David usually stood a discreet distance from her at all times. The restricted, enclosed space of the car forced an intimacy while simultaneously erecting solid barricades between them with seats and belts and headrests and consoles. They didn't entirely restrict her vision though. Travelling in the car, from one commitment to the next, was the only time that he was in her direct eyeline and she not in his. Not that she could use such an opportunity to study him, not with drivers and co-workers present. At times, it felt like such an unequal distribution of power. He got to examine her all day – critically, it felt like. He got to access and assess every aspect of her life, except the most private. Whether at home or at work, she was always on show. He knew next to everything about her life and she knew next to nothing of his.

When she'd tried to make a few polite enquiries, as solicitous boss to gratified employee, she received terse, factual replies in return. Over the years, she'd learned to fashion enquires about her life into opportunities to weave a sympathetic and compelling narrative. David Budd clearly felt no such compulsion. He'd tacitly refused to reveal anything of himself, save the judgement, disapproval and resentment that rolled off him in hot, tangible waves. She felt it every time he looked at her, yet she was never allowed to look back, examine back, judge back. She could risk a quick glance from her desk or from the backseat of the hushed sedan. But nothing more. Nothing lingering, nothing too telling.

Even so, when he disappeared off her security rota following the Camberwell blast, she found she missed his constant gaze. She regretted letting pass the opportunity to right herself in his eyes. As with the 1-10 report, she should simply have let it go. It was the wisest course of action. She should _not_ have asked officers who'd been with her far longer about the whereabouts and wellbeing of PS Budd. Or blown up over his absence in a meeting with some of the most powerful people in the country. And she definitely shouldn't have snapped at Rob when he teased her about the loss of her pin-up boy.

That whole situation was her fault. She should never have slept with the annoying little gnat. Just one night, a year or so before. Around what would've been her and Roger's tin wedding anniversary. Not that she could blame it on that, not considering how absolutely chuffed she was to have escaped that man's constant control and criticism. She hadn't been drinking so she couldn't blame it on alcohol. Perhaps if she had been drunk, it might not have been quite so pleasureless. Perhaps if she'd been drunk, she could've subsequently fooled herself into believing that some sort of release had taken place.

As it was, she was stone cold sober. Her memory had unrestricted access to every unfortunate detail. So she couldn't recall the evening as anything other than one of the most awkward, humiliating and regrettable experiences of her entire adult life. Definitely not one she'd ever want to repeat. But Rob had been angling for a repeat performance ever since. Despite the perfectly worded speech she'd delivered the next morning on preserving their professional relationship. It was meant to reinstate the distance between them while simultaneously saving his face. It was meant to put a stop to his ludicrous flattery and flirtation.

As a female politician, she'd become adept at manoeuvring men into positions she wanted them in without damaging their fragile egos and while still allowing them to maintain their unfailing belief in their own authority and brilliance. Rob was not difficult to manoeuvre in his way. Neither had Roger been, in the beginning. Once so handsome and affable, he'd been the epitome of her type of man. Tall, lean and fair. Verbose and smooth. She'd never been drawn to sullen, silent types. Nor boy-ish types with dark, curly hair and short, solid bodies. Rob's sort – or David Budd's sort, for the second man was simply an amped up version of the first – was of little romantic or sexual interest to her.

Yet in his absence, she found herself wishing she'd taken the opportunity to call Budd into her office and offer him a seat, before taking the one opposite and opening a line of questioning that fell far outside her purview. It's what she'd wanted to do the whole time he was on her security detail. She nearly had, so many times. He'd stood out there, day after day. Spine straight and hands clasped. And she'd wanted to summon him, isolate him, investigate him. Look him in the eye and sense his intention. She'd wanted to know, not just guess, what kind of man she'd been entrusted to, what kind of man possessed her. She'd wanted to know, once and for all, if he was hero or hindrance, dangerous vigilante or unrivalled touchstone.

So she arranged his reinstatement. An inadvisable move. A foolish act. One in a long line that also included disclosing classified information of great sensitivity and pulling strings to aid his son's education. Julia knew she couldn't afford to show further favouritism. But, sitting opposite Rob in that restaurant he'd contrived to get her to, her eyes nevertheless drifted in David Budd's direction. She couldn't look at him directly – he could look at her all he wanted but she couldn't do the same. It left her with no way of knowing how he was looking at her now. Was it with that same severe stare? Or had his reinstatement at her direct request softened him somewhat towards her? She wanted to meet his gaze and find out. She wanted him to look at her not as judge or protector or reluctant but dutiful shadow. She wanted him to look at her and actually see her.

When it happens, it's not as she imagined. When she sits on one couch and he on the other, when David Budd looks at her with puzzled curiosity and concealed like, it's not at all as she would've expected. For one thing, she no longer cares about the 1-10 bombing, all the questions stored up in her head. She doesn't wish to interrogate him – not when simply conversing with him is so pleasurable. There's an edge, no doubt. A lingering tension, a mutual awareness of the boundaries being breached. But even that feels oddly pleasurable. Thrilling, erotic. And more than a little addictive. Julia can't decide whether she wants to relieve that tension or simply let it stretch.

Once, she'd thought that, by sitting down and talking with David Budd, she'd get answers. Instead, she finds she has more questions. She'd thought that by looking him in the eye, all the accumulated tension would be relieved. She'd feel satisfied, at peace. And the fascination would dissipate. She'd be able to work him out. Then move on to the next big puzzle. Instead, she finds she wants more – more contact, more information, more time. So – adding to her long line of inadvisable decisions – she offers him a cup of tea.

Rob often brings meals to her flat. Or wine, or both. He knows where the glasses and plates and cutlery reside in her kitchen. Having a male presence in her flat making kitchen noises is not unfamiliar. But this feels different – more exciting. If it were Rob pottering about in the next room, she'd scroll through her messages or begin to tackle her late-night workload. She'd wait until he re-joined her on the couch, always sitting a little too close. But with David as her impromptu guest, Julia doesn't reach for her phone or her paperwork. She resists the urge for as long as possible then moves towards the kitchen, stockinged feet chuffing quietly on the carpet.

She stops on the threshold, just as he's lowering two mugs to the countertop. She watches him find tea bags in a ceramic canister, drop one in each. She watches every smooth, succinct move. He seems to know instinctively where everything resides. Perhaps he's figured out such details when scoping out her residence each evening. Or perhaps he's just privy to so many people's inner sanctums that it breeds a sort of confident overfamiliarity.

"You seem to know your way around a kitchen," she comments, nodding her head at his informal tea ceremony.

"Single dad," he mutters with a shrug. "Goes with the territory."

Julia gives a slow nod. David glances at her as he turns to the fridge, opens the door.

"White, no sugar, right?"

Her eyebrows lift. "Very observant."

He smiles, "That's my job," and adds milk to both their mugs.

Julia shifts a little, her gaze dropping and her mind wondering what else about her he's so easily gleaned. When she looks up, he's extending the steaming cup, fingers clutching the rim like a claw. She curls her fingers in the handle, meeting his gaze, but only briefly.

"I've got some…" she heads for the pantry, peers inside, "shortbread here…I think." She takes a blue tin back to the counter, pulls off the red ribbon and offers him the doily-ed contents. "A gift," she adds, "from…someone or other."

He takes a sugared biscuit and snaps the end between his teeth. "Another admirer?"

Julia takes her tea to the other side of the island, slips up onto a stool. "An organisation of some sort."

David hums, sips his tea then eats the rest of his biscuit. "Your man McDonald…" he goes on eventually.

Her eyes flick over his face. "Yes?"

He smiles at her. Actually smiles. "Seems pretty keen."

Julia leans across, takes a biscuit from the tin. "It's never a good idea. Mixing business with pleasure."

He nods a few times, glances around her kitchen. "I s'pose you're used to it. You must get quite a lot of that. From men, I mean."

Her face splits into a slow, incredulous smile. "You'd be surprised how little."

His brows tug upwards. "Would I?"

He's teasing her and her cheeks turn pink in response. She lifts her mug to her face, blows away the steam and takes a small, very slow sip. When she lowers the mug back to the counter, her smile has faded, her blush receded. She's gained control of her expression, if not the butterflies in her stomach.

"Most men," she tells him, tone imperious but eyes glinting, "find me…intimidating."

David seems to consider this a moment. "S'that right…?" he muses, stealing another biscuit and munching on it. He looks her in the eye, smiles again.

Julia smiles back. Clearly, the man has faced far scarier monsters in his life than her. It's a quality she finds unspeakably attractive.

After he leaves, she places their mugs in the sink. She eats another of the sugary shortbreads, some crumbs and granules falling to the immaculate countertop. For the rest of the night, she finds it difficult to concentrate. Her eyes keep drifting off the page she's meant to be reading. She keeps looking over at the couch opposite, the dint he left with his body.

She gives up early, leaves a few documents for first thing in the morning. She showers, changes into pyjamas, slips into her cool, empty bed and turns out the light. She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. It's perhaps his voice that does it for her the most. She'd like to feel it at her ear, against the skin of her neck. Warm and gravelly. Teasing and demanding. Her eyes close. One hand slips under covers, over curves, beneath satin. She's not touched herself in…months probably. It's not a priority. She lives in her mind, not in her body. Her body is for dressing impeccably, for making an impression. It's for sitting behind desks and marching down corridors. It's for transporting her ideas, disseminating her politics. For proving her gender irrelevant to her job.

He'd know what to do with it though, how to treat her neglected body. He'd whisper in her ear, tell her what to do, how to touch herself. What he wanted to see. What she needed to feel. And when her own hands weren't enough, he'd add his. Large, course, confident hands on her hips or thighs. One would cup her head as he kissed her then slide down to her breast. He'd pinch her nipple with one hand, stroke her folds with the other. And the whole time, his voice would be murmuring against her lips, into her neck, at her ear. All about the delights of mixing business with pleasure. He'd illustrate those delights by entering her and fucking her. Here, he'd stop talking. He'd pull back and look at her. He'd watch every thrust land and stoke and shake her. David would fuck her slow and steady, then fast and hard, and his eyes would never leave hers.

She comes pretty quickly. Holds onto the fantasy a little longer and brings herself off a second time. Once more, she thinks, eyes still closed. It's pretty easy – it's been a while. She just has to imagine his eyes closing and his jaw gritting as he thrusts within her and comes hard. "Fuck! Julia!" he exclaims as she circles her clit and milks the final pleasurable pulses from her grateful body. She sighs into the sheets, relaxes into bliss. She lets herself float in the fantasy a little longer. Would he hold her afterwards, let her lie on his chest as she fell into a sated sleep…?

The alarm clock wakes her, jolts her back to reality. She drinks her coffee while staring at the two mugs in the sink. The tin of shortbread still sits on the counter. She puts it away, cleans up the spillage.

It started so innocuously but it's getting out of control. She's making stupid choices that undermine her position. Julia drains her coffee, lets the caffeine brace her for the decisions that must be made. She keeps going back and forth in her own mind. One minute she thinks that the previous night was just a harmless one-off occurrence during which she got better acquainted with a member of her security staff. The next, she's sure it's the start of something disastrous. One minute she believes that David Budd is just a handsome distraction too risky to pursue. And the next, her gut _knows _that this strange, unspoken tension between them will build until it shatters in a raw and inevitable release. He will snap or she will snap or something will happen to make both of them snap. And when it does, he will fuck her and she will fuck him and it will be beyond any pleasure she's ever known in her life and she will sell her soul to do it again and it will destroy everything she's worked so hard for.

It may even destroy her.

The doorbell rings. Julia rinses her mug, leaves it in the sink with the other two. She gathers her coat and briefcases and checks her hair in the hallway mirror. When she opens the door, he's standing on the doorstep, spine straight and chin lifted.

"Morning, Ma'am." He nods once, reaches for a case. "May I?"

Julia hands him one, her fingers brushing his. "Thank you, Sergeant." Then she follows David out the door.

_TBC..._


	3. Chapter 3

Rating: M, more sexy stuff  
Disclaimer: Jed Mercurio, ITV and BBC etc own 'em.  
Spoilers: Eps 1-3 mainly  
Pairing: David/Julia  
Summary: A series of missing scenes that gradually diverge from canon to create a very different ending to episode 3.

* * *

"Sex with the Home Secretary. It's a heinous crime..."

They giggle, foreheads pressed together and warm breaths mingling. Their bodies shift beneath the sheet, her thigh sliding higher on his body. His laugh sounds goofy and alien to his own ears. He can't recall the last time he used it.

"And have many men committed my crime?" he asks, grin lingering.

"I'm sure many have," she replies, eyebrows arched and the same mock haughty tinge to her tone. "But not during my tenure."

He hums and leans in to kiss her bottom lip. He likes when she uses her posh vocabulary in bed. She knows it too. She does it deliberately and it works every time. His free hand lifts to her head, fingers delving into her curls as he pursues her lips.

Julia pulls back though, eyes searching his. "Would you like a list? Or was that your discreet way of asking whether I'm in the habit of sleeping with my protection officers?"

David opens his mouth.

"Because the answer is no," she adds before he can respond.

He shrugs a little, his hand dropping from her hair. "It happens, in my line of work. More than you'd think."

"Does it..." Her eyes flick over him with unconcealed interest. "Has it happened to you before?"

"There was a French diplomat once," he says with a small smile, "Took quite the shine..."

Her voice spikes with pique. "Did she now?"

"He," David corrects with a smirk. "And even if I was that way inclined…I was with Vic so—" It feels odd mentioning her name in this context and he shifts beside Julia's warm, naked body. "I've not…" he goes on, without meeting her eyes, "I've not been with anyone since her. Even before her…" he pauses, shrugs again, "just a couple of girls from school."

"Well…" Julia releases a sigh and runs a hand up his chest, "you don't seem to lack any expertise."

He meets her gaze, feels the smile return to his face. "I've not had any complaints."

"And I won't be adding any," she murmurs huskily, lips approaching his.

His chest rumbles with a soft chuckle. "Glad to hear it…"

He kisses her lightly, curls a hand over her hip and draws her closer. Julia's hand lifts to his face, caressing his jaw as she kisses him back. He breaks the kiss to slide his stubbled cheek along her perfectly smooth one, to kiss her ear and her neck. Julia buries her face in his neck, in his chest, in the sheet beneath that he has warmed with his body. Her leg slips off him, under him as he rolls her onto her front. He noses the curls away from the back of her neck and kisses her there with an open mouth and a hot tongue. He plants a string of slow wet kisses down her spine, his palm skating ahead to squeeze her arse.

He looks down at it, at his hand circling and caressing it, grasping it as his own. He can't help studying it, admiring it. He's never had a woman with such a full, womanly bottom and he's more than a little enamoured by it. His mouth works its way down there, licking the small of her back as he descends. He's always wanted to do this. Or, it feels like he's always wanted to do this to her. He can't pinpoint when the desire first arose. But as he gazes at her lovely nude arse, his head tenting the white sheet, he knows the desire is strong. Deeply entrenched and utterly irresistible.

He cups a cheek in each hand and squeezes them together. He kisses the soft lower swell of one cheek, the sloping upper sweep of the other. Julia's hips shift on the mattress as he kisses and bites and caresses her. Lifts and moulds and mauls her with curious, reverent hands. He spends long minutes exploring the area, the scent of her arousal radiating hotly from between her thighs. Not that she needs any preparation. They've been fucking all morning and all night and they're yet to run out of juice.

He leaves her arse wet and ruddy with a few tell-tale bruises and bites to remind her of his devotion. He licks and kisses his way back up her body, this time not staying true to the line of her spine. By the time his face appears over the apex of her shoulder, they're both panting in anticipation. Julia whips the sheet off over their heads so that they don't suffocate. David lays his body along hers, skin touching head to toe and both hands sliding up her arms to her hands. He links his fingers with hers, presses her palms into the mattress above her head and holds her there. She'll be safe there. No one will be able to get to her without going through him. He feels an odd sense of déjà vu, an indefinable sense of dread. He adjusts his hands on hers and presses his nose into her hair. He pushes his hips down into hers, his erection slipping between those soft, full arse cheeks. He closes his eyes and hears his heart beat in his ears. Out there is danger. But in here is perfection.

He kisses her ear, bites the lobe, whispers in it, "Let's stay in this room and fuck every night for the rest of our lives."

Julia sighs and shifts beneath him. "Yes…"

He's not sure whether she's agreeing to this hoarsely delivered scenario or simply encouraging him to fuck her again. She squirms underneath him, pressing her arse up into his groin and tossing her head from side to side. Her curls are dishevelled and her cheeks red with blood. He lets go of one of her hands long enough to grab a pillow and shove it under her hips. He angles her nicely, takes another long look at and gives another loving caress to her arse while he's down there. Then he inserts himself into her dripping tunnel, working himself into her from behind.

He doesn't know how many times they've fucked in the last few days. He just knows that they're so attuned now to each other's bodies, to each other's rhythms and desires that little to no barriers remain. Their arousal is almost instantaneous, their connection increasingly strong. Julia sighs and arches her hips, opening herself to him, pressing back against him. David slides back up her body, covers her skin with his and pins her hands to the mattress. He rolls his hips against hers, never pulling fully out, always staying deeply embedded. Her arse is warm and soft against his groin, lovingly cushioning the blow of each plunge. He kisses her shoulders and her neck and her ear and her hair and he keeps her there where she can never escape.

Her phone starts to vibrate as she's nearing her peak. He sees her head turn towards it as it dances on the dresser. He feels her pause beneath him, the flow of her arousal momentarily stalling. He feels her hands and her hips wonder if they should extract themselves from his. But David isn't ready to let her go – not just yet. His hands tighten on hers. He pulls his elbows and knees up under himself to get some more power behind his thrusts. Julia cries out when he drives into her, on an unrelenting mission to distract her, to keep her from the world and all to himself. A cold shiver runs up his hot, pumping spine as he thinks of losing her to them, to anyone, to something terrible that he can't identify. The panic only lasts a moment. Then she moans his name and all is alright. She is with him, beneath him. He is ensconced and entwined in her warm, heaving, healthy body. David closes his eyes as he fucks her faster, mutters her name in a heated litany. He erupts inside her with a sharp cry then collapses on her slick back.

As he floats in his post-coital haze, he feels her stir beneath him, turn enough to kiss his mouth, stroke his cheek. He assumes they're not done. Once he shakes off his drowsiness, he assumes she will let him head back under the sheet, play with her arse some more, part her thighs and lick her until she comes. That's his plan. But before he can enact it, Julia steals out from under him, murmuring with wry and reluctant affection:

"I'm afraid the rest of our lives will have to wait."

David rolls onto his back, limbs floppy and gaze blurred. He watches her walk to the dresser, half-lidded eyes on her back and her legs and that ripe, round arse.

"Shit…" she mutters, thumbing through her phone. "It's Hunter-Dunn, he's early—" She grabs a robe from a nearby chair and throws it on. "I need to get ready and you," she moves back to the bed and leans down to kiss him, "need to make yourself scarce."

He tries to hold onto her. "But we're not done—"

Julia lets him draw her in for another kiss. "Later," she promises before straightening. "Work now. Play later."

"Fine," he stretches out in her bed but doesn't move to get up. "You go protect the country and I'll protect you."

She tilts her head to one side, looking down at him in his sulky pout. Then she lowers again, this time taking her time. She plants a hand either side of his head, kissing him lingeringly on the mouth before murmuring against his lips, "I know you'll never let anything—"

There's a knock at her door.

Her head snaps up, eyes darting in the direction of the disturbance. She plants a final quick kiss on his lips. "Kindly fuck off now," she mutters before heading for the bathroom, her robe sailing regally in her wake.

David leaves her to her preparation, to her covert meeting. By the time he sees her again, she will be Julia Montague, polished MP and steely Home Secretary. A different woman to the one he's spent the last few nights with. He feels oddly deflated about not being able to complete their all night long tryst. He showers, dresses, brushes his teeth. As he does, he fights with himself about whether to listen in on her meeting. In the end, he tunes in to the last minute or so. He doesn't plan on passing on a single word of what he finds. He's more concerned with protecting his principal/lover from all possible threats that might surround her. Whether they come from within the government or without.

Donning his vest and gun instantly puts him in another frame of mind. He's ready for duty, alert to his responsibilities, devoted to his assignment. He meets her again as her principal protection officer, ushering her out doors, down corridors and into elevators that have been thrice checked over. Work now, play later. That's what she said. And that's what he knows. Compartmentalisation is a gift with him, one born of survival. Work now. Play later. Of course, when she'd said later, he assumed (hoped) she meant later that night. He did not expect her to manoeuvre him into an empty bathroom before planting on him one of the most deliciously illicit kisses of his life. David smiles as she plucks at his lips with her own, continuing the love scene they'd been forced to abandon.

"I know you'll never let anything bad happen to me," she murmurs, completing the sentence she'd started less than an hour before.

His smile fades as he pulls back to look at her. Julia smiles at him, stunningly enigmatic and palpably pleased with herself. She kisses him one last time, eyes open and on his. Then he watches her move to the mirror and pat at her hair. _She thinks she's untouchable_, he realises. _She thinks I make her untouchable_. He feels a sudden protective surge in his chest – he wants to warn her about Lorraine Craddock and Anne Sampson, about Hunter-Dunn and Mike Travis and that bastard of an ex-husband. He wants to warn her about himself, about how broken he is, how doomed, how fallible. He wants to warn her not to get too high on him because he'll inevitably let her down. He'll bring her down hard, bruise her badly.

He frowns at her in the mirror, voicing only part of his most private thoughts. "You're not untouchable, Julia."

She meets his reflected gaze without turning around. There's still a small smile on her lips. She licks them before murmuring in a husky voice, "No. Not untouchable…"

He smiles a bit, body relaxing. _I'm not the Queen_, she'd told him that first time, _you're allowed to touch me_…

After being disallowed touch by the woman he'd wed for life, being given permission by a new woman – a fascinating, frustrating, desirable woman – was the most powerful aphrodisiac he could ever have imagined. David steps closer, away from the door. He watches as she slips her long coat off her shoulders and lets it drop to the floor. Her gaze never leaves his and in it he can see the residual arousal resurfacing after being denied its natural culmination. Julia unbuttons her jacket, fingers moving slowly. Then her hands drop to unfasten the belt of her trousers.

David can't stand it. He lunges for her, slaps her back with his front, presses her hips against the sink. Her hands reach for the edge, grab a hold to steady herself. He attacks her neck with his teeth, unzips her trousers with trembling hands. He watches her in the mirror, watches the façade of this Right Honourable Member of Parliament crumble at his hasty touch. It's so sexy, touching her like this while she inhabits the trappings of her office. Her silky blouse, bottomed right up and tied at the neck. Her tasteful pant suit, pressed to perfection and ready to stride into parliament. The high heels she wears part on the tiles as his hand slides between the thighs, beneath her clothes. She's just as wet now as she was before. Her perfectly arranged curls splay on his shoulder as her head tips back and her mouth falls open. She moans and sighs and bites her lip to keep from crying out and alerting the rest of his team.

David circles her and spreads her and wonders if he could get away with fucking her one more time. His cock has been playing inside her almost constantly since the moment she opened that adjoining door to him. Yet it still wants more. It wants in. It wants her. He settles for pulling down the back of her slacks and sticking another hand into her underwear. He grasps her bottom, exposes it, opening his pants so that he can rub his hungry cock against that favourite swell. As he does, he inserts a finger into her cunt and re-stokes the orgasm she waived earlier. It doesn't take long. She squirms between him and the sink, tries to turn but can't. She's flushed and dishevelled and panting and, unlike earlier in bed, he can see everything reflected back to him. She jerks forward, towards the mirror as she comes, one hand landing on the pristine surface and causing it to cloud with heat. He pumps her and pleasures her, gives her lower lips a random scratch as she squeezes him tight within her.

He knows she's got more so he adds another finger, fucks her slower but harder. Julia comes again, gripping the sink with one hand and panting his name in desperate awe. David swirls her clit a few times, eking out the final few pleasurable pulses. When she becomes too sensitive for the caress, she pulls her hips away from his hand and presses them back into his cock. The soft skin of her arse rubs against him and David spurts liberally between her cheeks.

Julia laughs in the aftermath, weak and breathy. He kisses her shoulder and wonders how the hell he is going to go back to being a respectful PPO after that.

She reaches back to stroke his cheek with a clammy hand. "Lucky I keep a change of clothes at the office…"

She cleans herself up as best she can. She doesn't seem in any rush. She doesn't mind keeping people waiting. It's something he's noticed about her. The foyer is filled with men patiently awaiting her next move. But Julia serenely adjusts her clothes and waits for her colour to return to normal. She's probably aware that no man alive likes to enquire into what exactly women need to do in the privacy of a bathroom. By the time she's done, David has managed to refasten his pants and locate his last remaining brain cell.

She picks up her briefcase, throws her coat over her arm and turns to the door. "Shall we?"

David nods, "Right behind you, Ma'am," and lets one hand caress her arse as they leave.

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4

Rating: M, more sexy stuff  
Disclaimer: Jed Mercurio, ITV and BBC etc own 'em.  
Spoilers: Eps 1-3 mainly  
Pairing: David/Julia  
Summary: A series of missing scenes that gradually diverge from canon to create a very different ending to episode 3.

* * *

She's always been a light sleeper. Even after an evening of all-consuming sex. She will doze, she will enjoy a brief respite from the constant stress and drive of her job. But she will stir easily, re-surface suddenly. He can't know this about her, not yet. He doesn't know that she feels the mattress dip the moment he leaves it. She's not accustomed to the new bed, or to sharing it with another body. She breathes as he pads into the other room, burrows into her pillow as she waits for him to return from whatever mission has momentarily robbed her of his warmth.

When she hears the snap of the locks on her ministerial box though, her eyes crack open. She'd know that sound anywhere. It's followed by some indistinct rustling, some anxious breathing. Julia opens her eyes fully, remains in her post-coital curl. She swallows shallowly as she listens for further audible clues, her heart beginning to beat and her stomach starting to sink. There's a pause, a swish of something small and secret being slipped from its hiding place. Then a door is quietly eased closed.

She sits up in the bed, the sheet slipping down to her waist. Her breasts hang heavily, weighed down by residual desire and creeping disappointment. She can still smell him in the sheets, feel his sticky extract on her thighs. Her lips are swollen from his kiss and her arse is red from his grasping scratches. She swings her feet to the floor, her muscles complaining as she rises. Her body isn't used to this kind of activity. He'd fucked her good. Hard and soft and slow and long. Over and over and deeper and deeper. Hoping presumably to take her out until morning.

She'd initiated the encounter. After an evening of enforced abstinence and more than one exchange of tense, tacit words. It was an easy fix, if a far from subtle one. She'd simply opened her pants, slipped a hand inside and let him see exactly what he did to her. Eyes darkly intent, David had stalked towards her, neither slow nor fast. On reaching her, he'd coiled a hand round her neck, pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her hard. His hand had slid up into her hair as his gaze travelled down to the hand buried in her cunt.

"How do you want me?" she'd asked in a breathy pant.

His eyes travelled up again, raking over her, her lowered arm, her rising breasts, her wet, parted lips. "In every way possible," he'd answered, lips panting against hers.

Julia stretched her neck as he lowered his mouth to nip at her jaw. "Care to be a little more specific?"

One arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her away from the door frame and against his body. The other slipped down, grazing her hip before sliding between her thighs. He caressed the hand in her pants through two layers of fabric, encouraged it by pressing it closer. Then, taking hold of her wrist, he withdrew her hand and lifted it to his mouth. David kissed her palm, licked her fingers, interlaced them with his and drew her inside the bedroom.

He dropped her hand at the bed, took several paces back and told her to strip. He unzipped his pants, stroked his erection to hardness as she divested herself of heels then top then slacks and finally underwear. She stood before him in goosebumped skin and a thin gold chain encircling her neck.

David tipped his head at the bed. "Hands and knees please."

Julia breathed and obeyed. Then felt him move behind her, still fully clothed, fortified even by his bulletproof vest. One hand stroked her right arse cheek. A fleeting caress before he ran a flat, warm palm up her back, over her shoulder then down again. It dipped over her arse, slid down a thigh then rose between them to test the warm waters of her cunt. She felt his mouth lower to her arse as his hands stole under her body to squeeze her breasts. David paused, lips on the small of her back. He pulled one of her hands from the mattress and guided it back between her thighs. She resumed the circling of her clit, the stroking of her own folds while his mouth made love to her arse and his fingers tweaked her breasts.

"Now," she begged after too many minutes of perfect torture. "Please, David. _Now_."

A soft chuckle – he knew she was no good at ceding control. Then the metal of his belt buckle hit the floor. "Yes, Ma'am…"

She felt his hands grasp her hips, the hairs of his thighs tickle the raised skin of hers. Then the head of his cock was at her entrance. He removed a hand, took a moment to swirl the head round and round and up and down. To press a little way in then ease out again, gradually softening her tight, overused muscles. Then his hand was back at her hip and he was pushing inside. He moved slowly, adjusted her on him once he was embedded. He hummed as he swept both hands up her back then down again to her hips. He pulled out, paused then plunged back in, leaving several heartbeats between each deep, deliberate thrust. He fucked her like he'd been thinking about nothing else all day. He fucked her like he was on some kind of mission. He fucked her like he was trying to prove a point. Though she's not sure now what that point was meant to be.

Julia reaches for one of the hotel's terrycloth robes. The slate of the bathroom is chilly underfoot so she tiptoes to the toilet, sitting for a long moment with her legs crossed and her lips pressed tightly together. Rising slowly, she moves to the mirror and stares at her reflection. She wets a facecloth, presses it over her face, into her eye sockets. She swipes it over her forehead and behind her ears and down her neck. She runs the thing under the tap again then opens her robe. She washes her breasts and her stomach and between her thighs. Then she refastens the white tie and heads for the other room.

She switches on a lamp, every movement she makes slow and quiet. As expected, the door to David's room is closed and the black and red briefcases that accompany her everywhere have been disturbed. She stands by her bedroom door, looks back and forth between the cases and the door, then watches as the door opposite silently opens. He emerges, head bent, boxers on his body and prophylactic gloves on his hands. The blue rubber delivers another small shockwave, implying as it does an act of detached premeditation. His head lifts and their eyes meet across the room, a predictably guilty expression filling his features.

"I can explain," he says into the ensuing silence.

Her head tips to one side. "I can guess."

His head hangs, his feet shuffle into a tighter formation. Julia lets the silence sit a moment then waves a hand at the couch.

"I think we'd better talk, don't you?"

David frowns then follows her lead. He moves to the couch, takes a seat on the cushions. He looks exposed and awkward in his boxer briefs. She tugs her robe a little tighter at the neck. She watches him glance down at the device in his hands then hand it wordlessly across. Julia looks at the thing, back in its plastic sheath, no doubt wiped clean of any incriminating swipe marks. The slip of paper with the password has been carefully re-folded and placed alongside it as if neither were ever tampered with. With an entirely fitting sheepishness, David peels off his gloves and sets them aside. Julia watches the gesture then lifts her head to look him in the eye.

"Anne Sampson?" she guesses, "Or the Craddock woman?"

His Adam's apple bobs, his voice emerging hoarse. "Both, actually."

"And you agreed," she muses, her eyes thinning with cynicism. "Or are you going to tell me that you were coerced?"

He gives a pained half-nod. "They used my—"

"Your family," she finishes with a sigh. "How utterly original…"

She rises from the couch, moves to her breached cases and slips the device from the Security Service back where it belongs. While she's there, she checks if any other files have been disturbed, what other information he could have accessed. Behind her back, David tentatively launches an appeal.

"They approached me," he offers, tone resigned, even relieved. "They said I was in a unique position. They arranged access with the…" he pauses, indicates the room next door, "the adjoining suite."

Julia moves to stand opposite him, arms folded. "And sleeping with me was you maximising that position, I suppose. Were you acting under orders or simply showing initiative?"

He wags his head emphatically. "That wasn't part of any plan. Theirs or mine."

She looks at her feet, hums and mutters, "Can't have hurt though…"

He moves to get up, approach her. "They know noth—"

"How long?" she demands coolly.

David re-settles on the couch, acceding to her right to interrogate. "When you had me reinstated…"

She nods in understanding. "I betrayed a partiality. They decided to take advantage."

His head dips dutifully. "Yes, Ma'am."

She casts him a glance as she begins to pace. "Please don't call me Ma'am right now, David."

"Yes. No—" He grimaces and rises to his feet, hands fisted at his sides. "I'm sorry. I…" He shakes his head then takes a step closer, insisting, "I haven't told them _anything_."

She casts him another fleeting glance. "Yet," she notes, grimly.

David watches her a moment, his eyes beginning to narrow and hackles beginning to rise. He shifts in place, draws a sharp breath. "If you don't mind me saying, you don't seem very surprised."

She scoffs and faces him. "Did you really expect me to be?" She shakes her head, runs an eye over him from afar. "I admit, it wasn't a twist I saw coming. But frankly, I'd be more shocked if something like this didn't happen."

His chest puffs under her gaze. "If I was loyal, you mean."

She meets his eyes – straight, unrepentant, unflinching.

"If I kept your secrets," he goes on, his defiance gaining momentum. "If I told Craddock and Sampson or whoever else came at me…only what would benefit you. If I disobeyed orders in order to protect you…_that_ would surprise you."

She's silent a moment, her chest rising and falling beneath her robe. "Yeah," she replies evenly. "That would surprise me."

He steps closer, jaw set and eyes fixed. "And if I told you that I slept with you for no reason other than that I wanted to, that I wanted you and I—" he falters, voice breaking then fading.

"Yes, David," she replies again, her own voice sounding similarly faint. "That would surprise me."

David steps up to her. He looks like he might reach out and touch her but he doesn't. He just stands in front of her with his chest almost grazing her crossed arms. They expand outwards with every breath she takes. In bare feet, she has to tilt up her chin to look him in the eye.

"There's no other reason, Julia." His eyes hold hers, betraying none of their previous guilt. "I'm on your side. And I'll prove it."

She considers him a moment, her response half curiosity, half challenge. "…How?"

David waves a hand at the couch and invites her to sit. He tells her that he has a meeting with Sampson and Craddock in the morning. He says he will record this meeting so that she can hear exactly what he tells them, exactly what they say in response. She will hear their orders, their accusations, their suspicions. She will hear him deflect them – just as he's done all along.

"So you'll tell them…?" she asks after another moment's consideration.

"Exactly what you want me to," he replies.

She rises from the couch, moves at a pensive pace to her briefcases. She secures them both, lifts one in each hand. "Don't record the meeting," she says as she heads back to her bedroom, "There'll be hell to pay if you're discovered. Just…report to me afterwards."

David rises on the spot, stands to attention.

Julia turns at the door, looks him over then tells him, "I'll find some other way for you to prove your loyalty."

His head bows before she shuts the door.

The next morning, on their way to her first engagement, he reminds her of the meeting with Craddock and Sampson. The insulated sedan hums quietly around and beneath them. Her replacement driver stares straight out the windscreen. David offers a professional apology and assures her he'll be back at her side as soon as his superiors dismiss him. Julia replies with something strict and succinct. She's pretty sure the extra man in attendance can't hear the pointed tension beneath the exchange. Nothing of the silent agreement they struck the night before amidst betrayal and guilt and recrimination. David disappears sometime during her morning briefing, another man slipping into his place. But the meeting with Craddock and Sampson must be brief because he's back in no time at all.

_Well?_ she texts from her office.

Positioned five swift paces from her door, he can't text back immediately. When he finds a window, he responds, _No problem_.

By the end of another long day, she finds her wrath has cooled somewhat. She understands that people in high stakes professions can get caught up in power struggles, put in positions not of their own making. She understands that in such situations, morals can become relative, motives muddied and boundaries blurred. She understands that better than most. Of course, it's entirely possible that her mind is working overtime to excuse her PPO's inexcusable actions simply because her body misses him already. She's too accustomed to his night-time presence to give it up, too hooked on his touch and his smell and his kiss and his voice.

She attempts some flirtation once they're alone in the elevator, letting her tone invite intimacy, initiate forgiveness. When she suggests to David that he's become emotionally distracted, she gets a small smile in response. She'd like to continue their banter, find some way to make him elaborate on what he didn't quite say the previous night. After all, a lover who actually loves her is the sort of ally she's never had. A lover who actually loves her is the sort of ally she might just be able to trust. The elevator opens though, truncating the conversation. David's almost-smile remains as he ushers her off.

Stashed safely in her rooms, Julia lowers her briefcases to the floor and sheds her coat with a sigh. An immediate knock sounds from the other side of the connecting door. There's something tentative about the sound, something semi-shameful. She moves across the floor and opens the door that has been sealed since the night before. David steps inside, still in his suit, still in professional mode. As instructed, he delivers his report on the meeting with his superiors before handing her a piece of paper.

"I didn't record the meeting but I did take a few notes." He nods at the folded page as he says, "You'll want to destroy that when you're done."

Julia unfolds the paper, wanders a little way away as she scans his notes. He's written particular exchanges down verbatim, added his own impressions, questions or suspicions.

"I told them only what you authorised me to divulge," he adds, standing stiffly on the threshold.

She looks up from the page. Pauses then nods. "Thank you, David."

He nods once, turns to go then turns back. "I'd…still like to see you tonight," he murmurs, voice lower and warmer but still stiff, still unsure. "If you're…not too busy."

Julia faces him fully, her lips curving up in a small smile. She draws a half-breath and waves a vaguely apologetic hand. "Can you give me a couple of hours?"

David meets her gaze, smiles in return. This smile is real and full. His eyes glow with warmth and heat and growing conviction. "I'll give you whatever you want," he answers, voice dark and raspy. "I'll do…whatever you want."

She wanders back towards him, slowly scrunching the paper in her hand into a ball. Slipping her arms around his neck, she tips her head to one side and angles her mouth over his. "You mustn't make promises you can't keep, David."

"Try me," he rasps before kissing her. He seizes her bodily, clasps her clothes, screws them up tight in his hands. He presses his mouth over hers, opens her lips and sucks on them. He breaks the kiss prematurely, emerging from it breathless. He pants against her lips, cups one side of her face and holds her gaze as he repeats, "Just fucking try me, Julia."

_TBC..._


	5. Chapter 5

Rating: M, more sexy stuff  
Disclaimer: Jed Mercurio, ITV and BBC etc own 'em.  
Spoilers: Eps 1-3 mainly  
Pairing: David/Julia  
Summary: A series of missing scenes that gradually diverge from canon to create a very different ending to episode 3.

* * *

Julia doesn't waste any time in collecting her favour. The call comes a day later. She doesn't pitch it as a chance for him to redeem himself, to prove his loyalty and love. Instead, she tells him that she trusts him and only him.

David shuffles on the pavement, glancing up at the overbearing exterior of Scotland Yard. Her words are succinct but compelling, her voice intimate yet distant over the tinny phoneline. Fear grips his chest but his mind doesn't hesitate. It races ahead to consider the logistics of how he might fulfil her request, earn that unearned trust. Her faith in him only makes him more determined to do what she wants, to ensure that she safely fulfils whatever quest she's set on.

On the drive out to Chequers, she nurses a file marked confidential. It sits on her knee, framed by her fingers. Whenever he glances down at it, Julia glances across at him. He doesn't ask and she doesn't tell. They travel in silence and she leaves the car with three cryptic phrases and a sly smile.

The tyres creep across the gravel as he parks where the uniformed officer directed him. It's his friend's car, borrowed for the night. The radio doesn't work, he quickly discovers. He considers calling Vicky while waiting. Then he remembers her hanging up on him the night before, the guilty silence when he realised she wasn't alone. Best, anyway, not to risk turning on his phone and leaving a signal trace. Best to stay alert, ready for Julia's return.

She gave no indication of how long she might be with the Prime Minister. _Don't mention this to anyone. This never happened. And if I don't come back, go to the Death Star. _That was it. David finds some cigarettes and a lighter in the glove compartment. He gets out of the car, pulls his collar up around his neck. His breath puffs mistily before he's even lit the smoke. He leans against the bonnet of the car and contemplates her words.

_Don't mention this to anyone. _

He didn't plan to.

_This never happened. _

Of course it didn't.

_And if I don't come back, go to the Death Star._

That one had an element of foreboding to it. He didn't like the implication behind that one at all. He shivers slightly, shoves down the rising anxiety. He watches the windows for her silhouette but can't see anything. He lifts his sleeve, looks at his watch then takes another long pull on the stale cigarette.

She emerges forty-five minutes later, stands in the doorway with the PM for another five. They chat in low tones, backlit by warm yellow light. Then they shake hands and part. Julia descends the steps, smiling and intact. David lifts his numb bum off the car bonnet and watches her make her way across the gravel.

"Right," she says when she reaches him.

He nods, moves to the passenger side and opens the door for her. She slips inside with her confidential folder still in hand. David shuts the door behind her, scans the exit then moves to the driver's side door.

She seems cheerful on the drive back. She mutters to herself as she fiddles with the heating dial. She watches with interest the veiled scenery slip by. She leans closer and sniffs his clothes before asking if he's been smoking. She finds the packet of cigarettes and the lighter. She cranes her neck then points to a sign emerging in the night.

"Turn off here," she says. "Here," she confirms when he shoots her a questioning look.

There's a dirt road, lined by green grass and black trees. He follows it to a clearing and parks by a rotten log. Julia sighs as she looks out over a glistening slope leading down to a miniature lake. Then without a word, she hands across the confidential file. She smiles at him and exits the car, taking the cigarettes with her. David twists in his seat, looks back and around. He's positive they haven't been followed. No one knows where she is right now. He doesn't like her standing out in the open like that but she positions herself under the shelter of a tree with low, spread branches. He can barely see her, except for a brief, blinking light when she stokes her cigarette. David settles in his seat then opens the file.

Most of it he has seen before. On the device the Security Service gave Julia, the device he accessed without her consent two nights prior. Now, given permission, given her trust, he peruses the material less hurriedly, less anxiously. He pays attention to the dates and details, the names of the accusers and the invisibility of the investigators. He looks up regularly and clocks Julia lingering at the lake's edge, a cigarette dangling from her fingertips. She runs a hand through her hair, massages her own neck and glances up at the cloudy night sky. She turns when she hears the car door slam, heading back up the slope to meet him.

They halt within speaking distance.

He nods a few times. "I think I get the picture."

"Do you?" She tosses away the butt of her cigarette, raises her brows in expectation. "Tell me."

David takes a breath, shoves his hands in his pockets. "You've made a pact with the Security Service – greater power in exchange for intel on the PM. They've delivered the dirt on Vosler so that you can take him down." He juts his chin at the road they just came down. "Your meeting with him tonight was a heads-up, an invitation to step down before losing his reputation and career." He turns back, looks her over. "You're going to challenge his leadership, assume the Prime Ministership."

Her brows rise further, her eyes widen then drop. "Interesting," she murmurs, "what you think of me..."

His shoulders lift. "Am I wrong?"

She looks up again, her head tilting. "Wildly, in fact." She moves back towards the tree, treading carefully over the exposed roots in her high heels. When she speaks, her voice sounds smooth and reflective. "John and I have been colleagues for years. He was a mentor to me when I first started out in politics, said he saw something special in me..."

David nods. "Right..." Everyone knows the backstory – they also know what happened next between mentor and protégé. "But you've disagreed more recently. You've become Vosler's most vocal opponent. Especially on matters of domestic policy. RIPA 18 being a particular bone of contention."

She holds onto a low-slung bough, shooting him a quizzical look as she ducks beneath it.

David smiles slightly in response – he's been reading up on her and it shows. "I have to know who I'm protecting, Julia."

"In fact," she goes on in her most measured tone, "John's and my politics do not differ so greatly. We agree on many things, including the inviolability of the people's vote." Julia turns to face him under the shelter of the gently rustling tree, "You see, I'm not interested in stealing somebody else's Prime Ministership. Not when I can earn my own. I want a full term, David, not the pilfered dregs of one." She takes a breath, frowning faintly. "John's term is nearly over, after which he plans to retire. There are some significant reforms he'd like to push through before he does but unfortunately he's made some rather powerful enemies. People," she adds with a pointed look, "who have friends in the Security Service and in his own party. My ex-husband included."

His brow furrows. "But Penhaligon always sticks like glue to the PM."

She smiles with one side of her mouth. "Yes, he does, doesn't he."

He pulls his hands from his pockets, studying her closely. "You're saying it's a front."

"Roger's a born politician." Julia rolls her eyes then shakes her head. "And not the good kind."

"So…" he moves closer, stepping over a raised root and crushing some dead leaves, "you came out against Vosler, positioned yourself as an obvious opponent—"

"At John's request," she affirms steadily. "He felt that I could be trusted to come to him with any incriminating material. We've known for some time that they've been gathering so called sources." She crosses her arms against the cold, her eyes tapering. "Did anything strike you as odd about that file?"

His head dips to one side, his lips purse in doubt. "It did seem a bit much, a bit…out of the blue."

She sighs deeply, notes dryly, "I see Roger's prints all over it. He's not a man who understands the virtue of subtlety. I mean, most politicians have a skeleton in the closet, something they'd like to keep under wraps." She pauses, waves a hand between her body and his. "Case in point. But…" her head shakes again, her brows and voice rising in incredulity, "drug _and _alcohol abuse _and_ sexual assault _and_ financial misconduct? _And_ all these offences are only emerging _now_?"

"Overkill."

"To the extreme."

David frowns in thought. "These are serious allegations, Julia. You're sure they're not true?"

She smiles in reassurance. "Look, John likes a drink as much as the next man, more than one in fact. But if that were a disqualifying factor for the top job we Brits would be out of Prime Ministers in no time." She takes the cigarette packet from her pocket, momentarily illuminating her face as she lights the last one. "I've got my own sources on this and trust me," she blows the smoke from her lips then hands the cigarette across, "these allegations are completely baseless."

David takes it, contemplates it a moment before breathing it in. "So what do you get out of all of this?"

Julia's chin tips up, her eyes blink. "It's my job to protect the country. Sometimes that includes protecting our leader from threats within his own ranks."

He hums cynically and taps some ash into the dirt. "And once you've done that…you and Vosler will reconcile…_publically_. And he will endorse you as his successor." He lifts his eyes back to hers and watches her smile a slow smile.

"You should've gone into politics," is her only comment.

"Too cutthroat for me." He takes another draw then hands the cigarette back. "Who knows about this?"

Julia takes the cigarette, wanders to the car and leans back against the bonnet. "John and I," she answers, "And now you do."

David follows her, shoves his hands back in his pockets and sits his butt down by hers. Looking out over the still, dark lake, he takes a breath and holds it. "You realise I can't go with you. I mean..." he gestures between them but her gaze is on the ground, "this is impossible enough as we are. If you're aiming to be Prime Minister…"

Julia is silent a moment. A breeze ripples across the lake, lifting her hair back from her face. When she finally meets his gaze, her eyes glisten in the dark. "I told you because I trust you." Standing up, she crushes the light of the cigarette beneath her shoe then strokes his face with her smoky fingers. "Now…" she leans in to kiss his cheek, "take me home."

She wraps her coat around her and leaves him sitting on the nose of the car. David remains in place, gazing out over the lake, down at the crushed cigarette at his feet. Then, moving slowly, he takes the keys from his pocket and opens the driver's side door. He stops in the open door, looks at her over the hood.

"I think I love you," he tells her, adding in a lower tone, "If that makes any difference."

Julia's reaction is virtually invisible in the low light. But he can see her brows rise slightly and her lips part with surprise. "It makes all the difference in the world," she replies eventually, voice soft and certain. There's a small but pleased smile on her face as she ducks inside the car.

The rest of the return trip is occupied by going over their plan to smuggle her back into The Blackwood. As far as her security detail is concerned, Julia Montague has spent the evening alone in her suite, going over classified government documents. They need to maintain that illusion by slipping her back inside without anyone knowing she was ever gone. Several guards line the halls that lead from the elevator to her suite, so the stairwell is the better option. It's been locked ever since she took up residence at the hotel but David has a keycard. He's also secured an assurance from an obliging guard to look the other way at the designated time. He hands the keycard to Julia, along with the keycard to his room, when he leaves her on the floor below. He gives her a kiss and a nod then silently exits the stairwell.

He takes the elevator up the remaining floor, asks the guard near the stairwell to check on a noise he heard elsewhere. The guard outside Julia's room is similarly easy to distract. David engages him in a friendly conversation about their rota, making sure he angles the man so that he can't see Julia slip into the room next door. Once she's in, he slaps the man's shoulder and heads for his door, mimicking inserting his keycard into the slot. Julia is on the other side of the unlocked door, the excitement of their escapade boiling over. She throws him against the door and presses her body against his. Her mouth nips at his lips as her hands shove the jacket off his shoulders.

David rips the thing off, pursues her lips as he takes off his gun and sets it aside. Her hands are at his hips, unfastening the belt on his pants as she pulls him deeper into the room. Julia kicks off her shoes and shrinks several centimetres. He lifts her up and carries her to the bed. They land entwined, bodies bouncing on the mattress. Her hair splays out around her face and her lips emit a breathy giggle. He has a feeling she's having the time of her life. A spot of political espionage, a covert conference under the cover of night, followed by the effortless evasion of her ever-present security team has lit a ravenous fire in her belly. If he pulled her pants off right now, he's pretty sure he'd find her wet and ready. He's pretty sure she'd part her thighs, wrap him in her long limbs, welcome him deep inside and let him fuck her hard and fast.

There'll be time for that later though, plenty time to quench the aftereffects of her exhilaration. Right now, he has her in his bed for the first time and he wants to make love to her like it's the first and last time. He wants to make love to her because he's pretty sure he's falling in love with this woman – if not already fallen. And he's pretty sure that, despite any remaining reservations, Julia loves him back.

He runs a hand over her clothes, up her body. He cups her cheek and strokes her bottom lip with his thumb. His eyes rove down her body, her breasts rising and falling beneath him, her hips pressed into the mattress by his. He feels her name rising in his throat along with another, more complete expression of love. But instead, he murmurs hoarsely:

"You're not gonna tell me this never happened, are you?"

He lifts his eyes to her face, watches her roll her lips inwards and wet them with her tongue. Her hands travel up his body, pulling him closer. She draws his forehead down to hers, closing her eyes and caressing his cheek.

"No," she breathes. "Never…"

Julia wraps her arms around him and he lowers his body to hers. His face tucks into her neck and her neck stretches in generosity and pleasure. He kisses her there, breathes against her skin, sucks on the lobe of her ear. She writhes beneath him and his hips press into hers, making them both moan. She turns her head and kisses his cheekbone.

"No more mystery and deception," she whispers, lips dusting his sideburns. "I promise…"

David pulls back and looks at her, his heart all of a sudden sinking in his chest. Julia takes the opportunity to flip him onto his back. She kisses his jaw and his neck then starts to descend his body. But all he can think about now is the secrets he's still withholding. The truth about Andy. The truth about himself and the rage he used to hold. He confessed to the arrangement with Craddock and Sampson but he neglected to tell her how he'd known about the device from the Security Service in the first place. He neglected to tell her that his bosses had ordered him to eavesdrop on her conversations, record them as evidence against her. Or that he was still in possession of those damning recordings.

He hadn't wanted to ruin her opinion of him further, destroy whatever love was still salvageable. But he should've told her that first night. Or the following. Or tonight under the trees when she'd entrusted him with everything. He'd been so involved in her story that he forgot to contribute his own. He'd been so captivated by her secrets that he didn't confess his. And now, with her motives revealed to be far from as heinous as all around her suspected, he feels paralysed by his crushing conscience. The case with the surveillance equipment lurks under his bed while on it Julia applies liberal amounts of love to his skin. She makes her way back up his body, seizes one of his hands and pins it to the mattress above his head. Then she kisses him with a slow, insistent mouth. Pulling back, she looks so goddamn blissful that he can't bear to break the spell.

So David kisses her back and prays for more time, prays for her ultimate forgiveness. He prays he won't lose her, prays that this night won't be their last. But just in case it is, he plans to make it count.

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6

Rating: M  
Disclaimer: Jed Mercurio, ITV and BBC etc own 'em.  
Spoilers: Eps 1-3  
Pairing: David/Julia  
Summary: A series of missing scenes that gradually diverge from canon to create a very different ending to episode 3.

* * *

The Dean leads her through the corridors of the college, expanding all the while on their fine reputation. She nods patiently, praying for them to reach the green room she's been promised. They stop outside a door and she nods her head as he continues his polite patter. David checks the room over then stands sentry outside. Julia smiles and excuses herself before closing the door behind her.

She halts in place, hand still gripping the doorknob and body bent slightly at the waist. She breathes out through pursed lips. She closes her eyes at the blessed silence and feels the corners prick with tears. Her morning has been manic. More than usual. Today's the day. Long awaited and planned for. And yet, in every small pocket of time she can snatch to herself, her thoughts instantly revert to the events of the night before.

Julia moves through to the adjoining room, limbs feeling weak and uncooperative. She takes her speech from her briefcase, places both on the coffee table. She shrugs her coat off her shoulders and slips it over the back of a chair facing a well-lit mirror. She stares at her reflection, lifting a hand to her chest. The dark circles under her eyes are hidden by concealer. As are the fingertip marks he left on her neck. They wouldn't show, she'd assured him, she didn't bruise easily. And she was tougher than she might look.

She sighs as she takes a seat at the mirror. If she stretches her neck or swallows, there's still a pained strain in the muscles and tendons that's invisible to the eye. But it's her bottom that hurts more than anything. She'd run her hand down one flank as she showered that morning, feeling the raised tenderness. When she turned her back to the mirror and peered over her shoulder, she could see yellow and purple beginning to rise to the surface of her skin. Her body is still reeling from the jolt of him throwing her to the cold hard floor while the rest of her is still processing the revelations that followed.

Julia takes a tissue and dabs at the corners of her eyes. She turns her head to one side and pats half-heartedly at her hair. She'd opened the door. Of course she had. He'd been begging her through the wooden barrier. _Please, Julia. I won't touch you or…come near you. Just…let me see that you're okay._ Everything had settled into a place where everything was skewed. The floor was cold and her joints stiff. They had to move from here. Rising to her feet was relief. Unlocking the door an even greater one.

David was on his knees. Head bowed, shoulders hunched, hands loose and powerful thighs folded under him. He'd sunk so deep into his shame that it took a moment for his form to unfurl. He looked up at her from the floor, openly shocked that his pleas had been heard. Julia stood several paces back, her hand resting on the steel door handle. She watched him rise unsteadily, listing slightly to one side. She watched one hand half rise towards her then stop itself. He settled for peering at her neck, one side then the other. He took a half-step forward, eyes squinting in the low light.

"Still breathing," she assured him, her gut quivering.

David looked her over, saw the satin shivering on her body. "You're cold."

"So are you," she said as neither of them moved towards a hot shower or a warm robe.

Part of her wanted to look after him. Part of her wanted to look after herself. She hoped the two wouldn't prove mutually exclusive. She watched David fall back against the doorframe with a sigh.

"It's the pills," he confessed without looking at her, "for the…I get— dreams or…I can't sleep—"

His voice was faltering and reluctant and eventually it broke off altogether. Julia frowned and stepped closer, arms folded tightly to keep herself warm. "I wasn't aware that you were…" She was looking for the most sensitive phrase when David shook his head, his eyes closed in defeat.

"I've had it for years but I just started seeing someone." His eyes cut to hers from beneath his brows. "_Not_ a police psych."

She nodded slowly, knowing the professional implications of disclosing such a condition.

"They said it might get worse before it gets better," he muttered dully, before adding in a more desperate tone, "If I thought it would impact you, I never would've—" He broke off again, swallowed then restarted. "But I'm _seeing someone_, I'm _dealing with it_. I can do this job, Julia, I promise. I won't let you down."

"God…David…" She closed the distance between them, her arms dropping to her sides and one cold hand reaching for his in the dark. "Why now?" she whispered urgently, "What made you want to start taking these awful things now?"

His fingers gripped hers. His brow furrowed as if she ought to already know the reason. "You did."

Julia opens her eyes on her reflection, listless in the glass. David had told her that he contacted his doctor on October 28th. She knew the date, understood its significance. It was the day after he moved into The Blackwood, taking up residence next door to her in her temporary safehouse. It was the day after their affair became more than a post-traumatic one night stand. The day after their secret love affair had really and truly begun.

She rises from the chair and moves to the couch. The green room is quiet and warm and she knows exactly what she has to do. She's known it since last night. David wanted to continue as they were. She as Home Secretary and he as her PPO. Sleeping together in secret, becoming more and more entangled by the day. It wasn't realistic. It wasn't sustainable. They were going to have to decide how much of what they had created in private belonged in a more public reality. They were going to have to deal with their positions, her ambitions. His condition and his family. The first was the simplest, easiest and most pressing.

She's ready when he enters, all staunch professionalism and stifled offence. And she knows today is not the day to be having these discussions. It's the day on which they've arisen though. Her attention keeps being diverted to a personal issue that really should be of lesser importance. But then, if her political path is going to be rerouted by an unexpected love affair – as seems to be the case – then this watershed moment is not going to be as important as planned. Or at least, it's not going to be important in the way she'd planned.

She begins with her last remaining secret. Having begun confessing to this man, she cannot seem to stop. It's a compulsion now, an addiction – exposing herself to him. Being seen and understood, accepted and adored. His face registers interest then consideration then acceptance and finally shock. He's displeased by her severing their professional connection but she expected that much. Just as she expects him to recognise it in time as an act of devotion, not punishment. A way to draw him close rather than push him away. While he's holding tight to the relationship they've had, she's started imagining something different, something more.

She says what she must and means what she says. Then she collects her edited speech and moves to the door. She's changed the wording, made sure after her meeting with John that it does exactly what they agreed upon. She's ready to throw all of her political weight behind her leader and mentor, supporting Vosler in his final, vital acts as Prime Minister. Though what it might mean for her own chances as his successor, she's no longer sure. David shuffles behind her, stunned and silent. He stops at the door, head lowered. And when he doesn't open and hold it for her, she reaches for the handle herself.

"Wait—" The door hits the flat of his hand. "Wait…." David eases it shut then turns to her without fully meeting her gaze. "Postpone."

She stalls, her lips parting. "…What?"

"Postpone," he says again, more firmly.

Julia blinks and frowns and faces him. "Was something found in the final sweep?"

"No," he mutters, meeting her dazed confusion with blank conviction. "Everything seems secure."

"Then…?" Her head tilts.

He shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together. His words come out determined and desperate. "I don't know. I'm just— I'm begging you, Julia. Don't go out there."

She watches his face closely, murmurs slow and low, "This speech, David…it's very important. There won't be another opportunity like this one."

"I know, I know…" he bobs his head and holds her eyes and struggles to make sense. "I can't explain it. Just…last night…the nightmares…then this morning in the car…"

"The car?" she stammers, "What happened in the car…?"

"Look—" He leans closer, clutches her forearm, fumbles for her hand, "have me replaced, I don't care. Never speak to me again. But just…_don't_ go out there today."

Julia eyes him a moment then draws her fingers out of his. She moves away from the door, turns in a slow circle on the cushy carpet. "You know what happens if I walk away…"

He nods once. "Aye."

"The press," she tells him, eyebrows arched, "will have an absolute field day..."

David stands by the door, blue eyes pleading. "Please, Julia."

She takes a breath and shakes her head. He must be mad. Or she must be. Or his sense of foreboding must be contagious. Because in no time at all, he's calling her car back to the entrance and she's murmuring excuses to the Dean as she's ushered back through the foyer of the College. She's back in her bulletproof car, leaving her aide and the rest of her security staff to play catch-up. There are demonstrators throwing eggs at her car and laughing at her, calling her a coward. And then they're careening back across the bridge in enclosed silence.

David checks on their options. Her afternoon had been cleared for the speech at St Matthew's. With no other impending commitments, he directs them back to the hotel to regroup. She starts fashioning statements in her head as they drive. She should probably call Rob, get ahead of the story, minimise the damage. But she can't seem to face it quite yet. She gazes out the window instead. Glances at David in the mirror as he orders his people into position.

The armed officers that usually line The Blackwood's halls are still positioning themselves when they arrive. David slides the keycard into the slot, scans her suite quickly then holds the door open for her to enter. The moment it shuts he wraps her in his arms. Her arms slide round his body in response. She turns her head to one side, presses her cheek against his lapel. He breathes and she breathes and neither of them speaks. For a long still moment, they're alone. Then the phone in her pocket trills.

"And so it begins," he mutters, pulling away with a smile.

He heads for the tea tray as she apologises and answers the phone to Rob. She's still trying to talk him down when David returns with a hot cup of tea. He lifts her free hand, places the saucer in it.

Julia pulls the phone away from her ear. "Rob's a little upset," she whispers, eyes twinkling.

"I'll bet," he smirks as his own phone starts to buzz.

He steps into the other room to answer it. Julia watches David go, her mind only half occupied with her advisor's concerns over her disappearing act. He's still voicing them when he walks through the door a few minutes later. Tahir follows behind, looking like he's jogged the entire way from St Matthew's. Her phone rings incessantly and the adjoining door to David's room remains shut. She steps away to speak with Mike Travis, who offers to drop by. Soon, the whole Home Office will be descending on them. Behind her back, Rob and Tahir squabble about the best way to handle the incident, the perfect wording for the press.

When she ends her call, Rob immediately comes at her with his take. Tahir falls back with a sigh. Julia takes off her jacket and throws it aside in exasperation. Over Rob's shoulder, she sees the junior aide answer a call, his face suddenly going ashen. He glances towards David's room then steps past Rob, towards her.

"Home Secretary…"

Rob tries to intercede but Tahir won't be batted away. Julia holds up a hand and her advisor promptly falls silent.

"A bomb was found," Tahir says with softly spoken shock. "At St Matthew's." He glances at Rob then back to her. "It was…under the stage. Triggered to explode when…when someone stepped onstage."

Rob's mouth is agape. Julia takes a shallow breath.

"Officers are on their way," Tahir goes on, casting another glance at the adjoining room, "to ask your PPO how he knew about the device."

"David…" her head drifts in the direction of the other room, "no, David didn't _know_ about the device."

It's the last thought she has for a while. The thought she tries to hold onto as she casts her mind back over the events of the day, of the night prior, of all the nights prior. Rob tries to sweep her out of the suite to safety. Tahir calls in one of the armed guards. The armed guard looks confused but determined. David's door remains shut. She wants to stride over to it and knock. Call him in to explain. She doesn't. Her feet feel leaden. Her heart more so.

She can't believe it. She refuses to believe it. Or at least, she refuses to believe it until the police arrive and present her with a file marked confidential. They eject Rob and Tahir and call David into the room. They sit him down and question him and David shoots her looks of confusion as he repeatedly maintains his innocence. The file in her hands implies otherwise. It says that David Budd served in the army alongside Andy Apsted, they were known associates. It says David Budd attended meetings of Andy Apsted's peace group. They met for drinks and talked politics. According to one witness statement, her name was mentioned. There's a picture of the two of them, facing off on the roof of Pascoe House. And there's a transcript by a lipreader. The words on the page make her blood run cold.

_You've got to finish the job…_

_Someone's got to stop her…_

_Get it done. _

Julia flips to the next document to see a picture of an illegal firearm. Owned by David Budd, found stashed in his flat. Along with several flash drives containing audio recordings of her private conversations. She closes her eyes then closes the file. The female officer stands and requests permission to search Budd's room. David stands also, says her name. Julia gives the woman a terse nod.

"Julia, you've got to believe—"

David starts to move towards her but the male detective rises and places a hand on his chest. When David resists the pressure and tries to press past him, Sharma uses both hands to hold him back. The armed officer steps forward, awaiting his cue. Julia looks at David's muscles, straining beneath his clothes. The blood rising to his face and the moisture on his lips as he speaks. But all she hears is a ringing in her head. High-pitched and constant. Blood rushes in her ears and her temples throb with pain. Her head turns when the female detective returns holding a box. She opens it to reveal surveillance equipment.

She looks to her superior. The older detective nods and begins telling David that he is under arrest, that he doesn't have to say anything but it may harm his defence if he doesn't mention when questioned something he later relies on in court. David pays no attention to the caution. He's still trying to get to her, speak to her, convince her of his innocence. His love.

Julia feels tears mist her eyes. She lowers her head, takes a shaky breath. The high-pitched screaming continues. It overrides everything sane. She lifts her head. Then gives the lead detective the scantest of nods:

"Take him away."

Sharma shoves David towards the door, the armed police officer providing a little extra muscle. Rayburn strides towards her and holds out a hand. Julia gives her the confidential file then watches her exit with the listening device. The door swings closed and she's left alone in the suite.

She lifts a hand to her mouth, runs her fingers over her lips. She takes a step to nowhere, her high heel echoing in the empty space. Her phone rings in the silence and she stubbornly ignores it, moving on unsteady legs towards David's room. She stands just inside the door and surveys the space – the bed, the bar, the lamp, the chair. She moves to the window and cracks it open, breathing in the smoky air of the city.

A car is parked below. A black sedan, flanked front and back by blue and white police vehicles. She sees David being led to the black car. His body has quit struggling now, his shoulders are stooped. He stops in the opened car door and looks up at the hotel's façade. Part of her draws back in fear. Another part stretches forward to see him. One last time. He may see her. He may not. It's only brief. Then the detective applies pressure to his head, forcing David to duck into the backseat.

From high above, Julia watches the red and blue lights twirl. She watches the cars pull away from the curb and disappear into the grey distance. Then she moves to the bed and sits down. She picks up the phone and calls housekeeping. She'd like them to come up and change the sheets on the beds, please. As soon as possible, please. Yes, fresh towels would be much appreciated, thank you very much. She puts the phone down then rests her hand on the mattress by her thigh. She feels the bed with her fingers, with the flat of her hand and she whispers to it, to herself:

"This never happened."

Julia rises from the bed and moves slowly through the suite. She touches counters and cushions and walls and beds. She touches with trembling fingers every surface they touched with their rapt, naked bodies. The spot where they first kissed. The counter he lifted her onto, the wall he pushed her against. She tells them all to forget what they've witnessed. She tells her bones, she tells her blood, she tells her mind and her heart:

_This never happened… _

_This never happened… _

_This never happened. _

_END._


End file.
